


Being Whole

by impossiblyimprobable



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Birthday Sex, Healing, Healing Sex, Implied Child Abuse, Implied Past Non-Con, Implied Past Violence, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, also violating several common fic tropes because whatever, not exactly magical healing cock but kind of?, working around each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-28 22:50:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13281531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblyimprobable/pseuds/impossiblyimprobable
Summary: John tries to give Sherlock the best birthday present he can think of.





	Being Whole

This… this was better. The flat is warmed, the wine is satating, and Sherlock is a bit… blissfully pliant. Better than he had been, early on when they had floundered and wondered what would actually  _ work for them.  _ John settles, comfortably at the foot of the bed. This doesn’t always work the best with their height difference and sometimes old injuries to show their ugly faces. 

But tonight, they don’t, at least. It’s warm, and the wine … it must be the wine that allows John to slot his head between Sherlock’s legs, his own legs held around Sherlock’s chest. 

  
They are laying on their sides, finding that … the most comfortable and least aggravating. 

Sherlock’s stroking him, almost lazily, the git, lovable as he is. John doesn’t mind. Slow and sweet is exactly what he wants right now. 

 

He moans a little, Sherlock’s fingers are dextrous and tantalizing and John sucks a bit more, licking, flicking his tongue and Sherlock’s hand jerks slightly, indicating that he likes this. John has gotten to the point that he understands every little movement of his … husband. When a movement makes him anxious, when he needs to stop, when he is getting desperate, when it isn’t working… 

 

Sherlock took almost the equal amount of time to figure out the same in him, which - is interesting. He’s not all-knowing, but John loves every bit of him, so even his flaws are beautiful. Physical or otherwise. 

  
Sherlock doesn’t think that of course, he’s just starting to get used to the idea. But then again, John was … taught, and taught well as a child that _this, what they are,_ is a sin, an abomination, the evidence beaten into tender flesh that even _looking_ was wrong.  But this  is love, and love cannot be controlled or restrained or … beaten out of one, no matter what form it takes. 

 

Sherlock tugs at him this time. That’s right. John’s mind was wandering again, it’s the wine, of course. Sherlock’s focus is usually sharp even with the satiating effect of the wine. He wants more, he wants John to feel good just as he should feel good again. John sucks and licks and moves his mouth again, and Sherlock’s hand  _ stops _ for a moment, indicating John is doing the right thing, though he continues in a moment, brushing his fingers with more enthusiasm. 

It’s alright of course, if they don’t come in sync. It rarely happens anyway that they do. 

 

It’s gentle though, like they both need. Slow and sweet. Almost lazy in comparison to other people - who cares about  _ other people.  _ They wouldn’t understand what they needed. 

 

Sherlock needed things a certain way. His hand stops again as John fondles and licks, palm twitching, trying not to pull or squeeze too much and his other hand has gone from the back of John’s knee to twisting in the sheets, trying not to writhe or move too much. John breathes, mumbling, “yes love, yes, it’s alright, it’s alright.” He’s definitely hard now, hearing Sherlock moan this time, jerking into his mouth clearly trying not to too much though. It takes control and then releasing, letting go, trusting  _ implicitly.  _ John sucks again, and Sherlock’s other hand releases him, indicating how close he is, hips moving to thrust a little into John’s mouth. It’s alright. His mouth can accommodate. Sherlock’s is perfect after all, though it’s not like he can be told often enough to make up for his self-consciousness. 

 

John swallows what he can, warm and salty-bitter-sweet, careful to stroke with his fingers and move back once Sherlock puts his hand on him again, lazy and stated, but also tugging gently this time, indicating for John to shift back into his own mouth. This requires a bit of turning and adjustment, but they are both patient. Mostly Sherlock loves … just laying there and sucking on the tip, utterly sated for awhile and watch John moan in ecstasy. He’s always fascinated and in awe of how John can be short and compact in stature and yet… generous even without being aroused, and that he’s always known this and found this exceedingly attractive. John’s careful though, as much as he loves it. Knowing Sherlock has had his own share of past… undesirable experiences, knowing he needs to be careful.    
  
He can’t reach to caress Sherlock’s hair from this position, really, bracing slightly as Sherlock sucks and tries taking as much as possible in his mouth. John doesn’t fit entirely, but it’s enough. It feels  _ wonderful.  _ Warmth, loved… 

 

He moves slightly, his signal to Sherlock that he’s close and Sherlock responds by pulling him closer, taking him in further if he can, flicking his tongue. He pulls John closer with his hands wanting him close. It isn’t long before John comes as well, and Sherlock releases him, not really as much into swallowing as John is, but that’s alright. There’s more shifting not caring which side of the bed is shifted to. Arms wind against torsos, sticky bodies against each other. They can clean up later. John tugs him closer, kissing his lips, closer, closer, closer, pressing against each other, utterly sated. They may fall asleep like that, they may very well shower later and have another round of things, but … it doesn’t matter. 

“Good?” John wants to know. Sherlock nods and responds, kissing, humming a bit in his contended tone. John strokes his curls. He thinks he found a bit of gray in the dim light, but that just makes his husband more endearing. “Happy birthday,” he murmurs, knowing it’s well past midnight, and Sherlock has probably forgotten, and he knows Sherlock will hum again and pull him closer for more … lazy kissing. 

Hands press against damaged skin with gentle touches, caressing, hands in hair, against necks, mouths against mouths, feeling the oneness of … two people despite being damaged being whole. Together. 


End file.
